


Fool's Gold

by SageMasterofSass



Category: House M.D.
Genre: At plainsboro-princeton and everything, Confessions, Dragon AU, Epic dragon battle, Everything is the same except now there's dragons, Fantasy, First Time, Hoarding, I promise this is a modern setting, Kidnapping, Lil bit of smut but not really, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rescue, Sorta kinda anyways, Supernatural - Freeform, ive been working on this for so long weeps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:54:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: Don't threaten what isn't yours.





	Fool's Gold

**Author's Note:**

> HI IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR FOREVER PLS TAKE IT 
> 
> seriously tho I'm tired of looking at this damn thing it was never supposed to be this long. it's longer than the fuckin mini book I have published. took more time to write too. anyways, i hope somebody out there enjoys this trash heap.

She comes striding into the conference room and everything just. Stops.

 

Pale blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in harsh waves, her face narrow and pale, eyes a bright, intelligent silver that cuts straight to the bone. Everything from her stance to the hand on her hip speaks of an over confidence bordering on arrogance.

 

It’s been a long time since House has encountered one of his own just randomly. They’re a dying species after all, their numbers growing smaller and smaller as the years wear on. Part is due to the purges around the time he was born, every man looking to make himself great via the quick and heroic task of dragon slaying. The rest is due to the species’ stubbornness as a whole. So many individuals have simply gone dormant rather than live and change with the evolving world. Those who have stuck around, like House, are forced into play acting as humans, and while he doesn’t mind it, enjoys many aspects even, not many of his ilk feel the same way.

 

She’s tall and beautiful and smells like the harsh wind blowing across a boreal forest. There’s also an obvious stick up her ass because she turns her nose up at him almost immediately, one corner of her lip lifting to reveal straight, white teeth. On a human it’s just a sneer. On a dragon it’s a display, a warning. A, ‘fuck with me and I won’t hesitate’ kind of message which, excuse him, __she’s__  the one walking into __his__  space!

 

His fellows have all turned in their seats, necks craning to look up this strange woman. House cocks an eyebrow at her, his hand falling away from the whiteboard.

 

“Can we __help__ you?”

 

“I doubt it,” she says, her tone cool and even. Her element has to be ice, there’s simply no other explanation for the physical chill she’s put over the room. They stare at her, Foreman unimpressed, Chase visibly confused, Cameron with her brow furrowed and her lips slightly parted. House waves the hand holding the marker in a royal ‘well, go on’ gesture. It’s not like they have all day here. There’s a patient a few floors down with some alarming but fun symptoms who would probably like their attention soon.

 

“I’m the new head of the ICU,” she finally declares. “Dr. Rowlands. It’s been brought to my attention that the diagnostics team doesn’t actually have their own ward, and that you treat most of your patients in the ICU.”

 

Ah. So that’s what this is about. “Considering all the patients I take on do, in fact, require intensive care I’d say yes.”

 

Rowlands nods once, sharply, pale lips pursed carefully, and then reaches into the bag at her side and pulls out a handful of papers. “While you’re there you’ll be following a new set of rules.” With crisp, brisk steps she walks around the room, handing a bundle of stapled paper to each person. “This is a contract that I’m going to require each of you to sign before I’ll let you treat anyone in my ICU. I’ve reviewed the numbers, and the levels of redundancy, miscommunication, unnecessary treatments, and endless paperwork sky rocket the moment you so much as put your cane through the door. I won’t be allowing that anymore.”

 

The fellows each tentatively take a packet. Cameron and Chase swing their gazes between House and Rowlands like they’re children about to watch their parents fight, and Foreman just starts methodically flipping through the pages.

 

Rowland comes to a stop in front of House, holding out a contract for him, thicker than the others had been, and stares him down unwaveringly. There’s a challenge in those glacial eyes of hers. She doesn’t know if he considers the hospital his territory and is trying to feel him out, tell him she’ll fight him for it if she has to. Luckily, his hoarding and protective tendencies have a different outlet so they won’t be coming to blows. Yet.

 

He doesn’t take the outstretched papers but instead stares Rowlands down. Tension builds between them for a long, long moment, neither of them willing to give any ground. This isn’t House’s territory but it’s still his place of work and Cuddy and Wilson are the only ones allowed to push him around here. Everyone else either runs or gets pissy but in the end they all let him do what he wants and that’s just how he likes things. Rowlands isn’t going to intimidate him.

 

House takes the contract anyways, it’s weight slapping lamely against his leg.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says drily. If he had a free hand he’d give her a little wave goodbye but he’s got the cane in one and the paper and whiteboard marker in the other. He settles for a sarcastic, “Buh-bye now!” that has her eyes narrowing at him.

 

“I understand you have a patient right now.” It’s not quite a question, not quite a comment.

 

“No, the kids just really like to play doctor so we sit in here and stare at a whiteboard full of symptoms and they pretend to be competent medical professionals.”

 

“She’s in the IMCU,” Foreman cuts in, shooting House a dry look before his dark eyes slide to Rowlands, one eyebrow cocking. He seems just as unimpressed with her as he does with his employer. Which is to say, a lot. “I’m assuming that won’t be a problem?”

 

Rowlands’ upper lip curls again, a snarl there and gone again so quick House almost misses it. Huh, not as in control of her draconic nature as she should be. “You’d better hope her condition doesn’t worsen before you sign the contract,” she says, faux-sweet. “If it does, and she’s moved to the ICU, she’ll be under my care and not yours.”

 

“You’re gonna kill my patient out of spite?”

 

She doesn’t dignify that with a response. With one last haughty look around Rowlands turns on her heel and breezes out of the conference room much the same way she’d entered it. A resounding silence settles in her wake, the fellows glancing at each other and House staring contemplatively after her tall, striking figure as she strides down the hall and around the corner.

 

It’s always hard to tell age with his kind. Their life spans are long and vary dramatically by lifestyle. A reclusive dragon avoiding human contact at all costs can make it over a thousand, easy. It’s not like they have any natural predators, and food is plentiful if one is careful enough. On the other hand, dragons develop at much the same rate as humans do, at least for the first twenty years or so, and so it’s entirely possible for a dragon to live their entire life among humans. But humans are risky creatures, and dragons who live with them tend to have much shorter lives.

 

Rowlands has the air of someone raised to believe she’s better than humans and the control of a someone who didn’t have to have control at all until fairly recently. House is willing to bet her parents are probably reclusive, and after a century or two of living with them she decided to set off on her own.

 

Probably between two and three hundred then. Grown into herself and her abilities, confident in her strength. Did she know House was one of her own when she came clipping up here in her practical heels? Probably. She seems like the type to do her research and she probably scoped out the hospital before accepting the position. House is here five days a week; his scent is everywhere. Even a young dragon would have been able to sniff out his presence, much less one fully grown.

 

So she knew about him, and then delivered a challenge straight to his doorstep. Either she’s worried he might try to chase her off, or she wants Princeton-Plainsboro to herself.

 

“House?”

 

Cameron’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he pulls his gaze away from the corner Rowlands had disappeared around. The fellows have somebody’s contract pulled apart and spread out on the table in some semblance of order. A pink highlighter has been used liberally and with seemingly no discretion; Cameron’s if he had to guess.

 

House frowns at the mess. “Don’t we have a patient?”

 

Chase grimaces. “Not if she tanks and is moved to the ICU we don’t.”

 

“The don’t have her moved to the ICU, problem solved.”

 

“If her condition worsens the IMCU won’t be equipped to handle her care,” Cameron argues earnestly. Sure enough, she’s go the pink highlighter gripped in one hand. “The nurses have more patients to take care of and won’t have time to monitor her properly, not to mention all the procedures we simply can’t do while she’s there. ”

 

She’s right, but only because the IMCU nurses would start a riot if House tried to make them rearrange the entire unit around one patient. He’s on thin ice with the entire nursing staff at the hospital for that matter. Maybe just the hospital in general.

 

With a sigh House tosses his own copy of the contract onto the table, scattering the loose papers in a small flurry that has Cameron and Chase lunging to grab them all. It’s very amusing but doesn’t brighten his mood. “Then we sign the damn things.”

 

Foreman, ignoring his colleagues as they try to scrape all the papers together, stares House down. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and is leaned back casually in his chair. “You won’t.”

 

House cocks an eyebrow at him and Foreman mirrors the expression right back. “It’s too restricting. You wouldn’t be able to follow all those rules for a day and as soon as you slip she has grounds to file a formal complaint against you and get you fired.”

 

“Cuddy wouldn’t fire me. I’m the golden goose.”

 

“Too many complaints and she wouldn't have a choice,” Foreman fires back.  

 

Definitely trying to chase him out then, not just secure a place for herself in the hospital. Rowlands wants him gone. The question now is why.

 

House limps towards the table and snatches up his copy of the contract again. If he happens to knock over the stack of recently collected papers as well, it’s worth it for the way Chase’s jaw drops in offense and Cameron’s lips purse tightly. The pair watches the pile flutter to the ground in mute horror.

 

“Oops,” House says tonelessly, and then starts for the door without missing a beat. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

 

oOo

 

Really, he should be going to see Cuddy first. She’s the one who can put a stop to all of this, but…well. He may not claim territory, a trait shared by most dragons raised around humans, but he still hoards. He’s still over protective of things are that are 100% __his__. And out of everything that is completely his, there is one in particular that is more his than any of the others.

 

“Someone is trying to get me fired,” House announces loudly, letting the office door swing shut soundlessly behind him.

 

Wilson doesn’t even glance up from his paperwork. “Oh good,” he says tonelessly, “I was hoping someone else would take up the mantle so I wouldn’t have to. Conflict of interest and all that, me being your only friend.”

 

House snorts and collapses onto Wilson’s couch, the cushions dented and familiar. “Please, I’m __your__ only friend, not the other way around.”

 

“Are we counting hookers as friends now?”

 

“They certainly know about the things I like,” House muses, and when that makes Wilson give him a dry look, he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Wilson just rubs at the bridge of his nose.

 

“Don’t you have a patient?” he asks. Despite his tone his shoulders are straight and there’s a spark in his eyes that says he doesn’t mind the interruption. Must have been working on something boring then.

 

“There’s a new she-demon in the hospital.”

 

“Ah,” Wilson says, folding his hands on his stomach as he leans back in his chair. “The person trying to get you fired, I assume?”

 

“That’s the bitch.” House leans forward and slaps his contract onto Wilson’s desk before flopping back again. “She’s the new head of the ICU. Wants me and the kiddies to sign these before she’ll let us treat any patients in her unit.”

 

Brow furrowing, Wilson pulls the packet closer, already flipping through the first few pages. “But almost all of your patients end up in the ICU,” he says, head cocking to the side at whatever he’s finding. “This is…”

 

“Filled with so much legalese you could give a law student heart palpitations? Yeah.”

 

“Incredibly restricting,” Wilson finishes instead. “Is any of this actually legal? Can she make you follow these rules?”

 

“I don’t know. I have to go ask Cuddy about it, see if she’s in on this.”

 

Wilson flips through a few more pages, shaking his head as he goes. “You know she wants you to go through her before performing any procedure or test? Not just the big ones, all of them. That’d be a nightmare for any attending, much less __you__. You said she’s new?”

 

“Yup,” House says, popping the /p/ obnoxiously. “Don’t even know her either.”

 

That makes Wilson huff a little, even as he closes the contract and pushes it away. “How on earth you’re able to make enemies with someone before even meeting them is beyond me. I think it might be your super power.”

 

“Excuse you, I make all kinds of people hate me, not just the ones I haven’t met.”

 

“Oh, my bad, I forgot you drive away the people you know too, not just the ones who haven’t seen your face yet,” Wilson says apologetically.

 

“It’s not my fault nobody can handle my intelligence,” House quips, and Wilson stares him down for a long, long time before snorting.

 

“Yeah. That’s definitely what drives them away,” he sighs.

 

House just smirks at him. “And don’t you forget it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a director to hunt down. Do you think she’ll appear if I stand in front of a mirror and say her name three times fast?”

 

“Try standing in the clinic instead,” Wilson says, passing over the contract as House stands and moves past the desk. “You’re never there so it’ll catch her attention more quickly.”

 

“Thanks, dear. I’ll try that. Don’t wait up for me though, and have the kids in bed by nine.” House pushes through the door and hears Wilson call, “They’re __your__ kids!” after him.

 

“Yeah, but you married me so now they’re your problem too!” he calls back, much to the confusion of several passing staff members. Oh that’ll start some new rumors. Fantastic. Maybe if enough circulate Wilson will finally get his head out of his ass and realize he’s in love with House and they really have been married for like the past five years or so.

 

Doubtful, but a supernatural creature can dream.

 

oOo

 

When House bursts into Cuddy’s office, ignoring the resigned warning from her ‘secretary’ as per usual, she doesn’t even look up from her computer. She and Wilson must be getting complacent if he can’t even make a proper entrance anymore. He’ll have to rectify that.

 

House limps up the desk and slaps the contract down onto it, directly on top of whatever paperwork Cuddy has out.

 

“This can’t be legal,” he declares, and she finally looks up at him. There are tired bags hiding under her makeup and her blouse is especially low cut today. She purses her lips at House and then glances dismissively down at the contract. Without even opening it, she picks it up and holds it back out to him.

 

“Dr. Rowlands ran everything by me first. It’s all legal.”

 

“Seriously?” House snatches it back from her and then flips to the third page. “Everything about this is legal, even the part where she can control the amount of medication given to my patients, against my direct orders? This contract relegates me to nursing duties the moment my patient hits the ICU!”

 

Cuddy’s brow furrows, and she reaches to take the paper back. “What? That’s not what we agreed to.”

 

“Oh, so you were only going to make me __partially__ unable to do my job instead of completely.”

 

“She didn’t want you wreaking havoc in her unit, which is completely reasonable,” Cuddy snaps back. “I was expecting most of the other units to submit contracts by the end of the week, actually.” With sharp movements she flips through the papers, dark eyes scanning the words quickly but efficiently. She’s already shaking her head before she’s even put it down. “No. This is way over the line, she has no right to make these kinds of demands.”

 

House throws his arms out dramatically. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along!”

 

“I’ll call her down and get this taken care of right away.”

 

“And no more contracts.”

 

They stare at each other for a long time, Cuddy’s gaze sharp and considering, before her shoulders sag and she sighs. “Fine. They’d probably all be this bad anyway since nobody can stand you.”

 

“Thank you,” House says, semi-sincerely, and dips his head a little. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient we’ve had to neglect because we weren’t sure she wouldn’t end up under Rowland’s care instead.”

 

Cuddy waves him out. House goes, limping past the secretary without even acknowledging the kid, but he doesn’t head back up to the third floor. Instead he lingers outside Cuddy’s office, tapping his cane against the tiled floor impatiently.

 

After about ten minutes, Dr. Rowlands finally shows, her steps even and brisk as she approaches.

 

“Got called to the principal’s office?” House asks.

 

She pulls to a stop, bright gaze considering him for a long second. “I suppose Dr. Cuddy didn’t find the contract suitable?”

 

“You mean your thinly veiled attempt to get me fired when I have tenure and you’re just a new hire? No. She didn’t.”

 

If Rowlands is embarrassed by her failure or how obvious her plan was, she doesn’t show it. She just tilts her chin up a little higher and stares him down. House loses patience quickly and rolls his eyes with a sigh.

 

“Are you just territorial or what?” he finally snaps.

 

“Aren’t we all?” Rowlands replies calmly. “It’s in our nature.”

 

“Not all of us.” House glances her up and down, from her perfectly coiffed hair to the tips of her pointy, perfectly matched shoes. “I hoard, I don’t claim territory. It’s useless to when you live around humans, which you don’t know yet because you lived with mommy and daddy for centuries and then rebelled by…what, going to med school? That’s not very punk rock of you.”

 

She glances back at the foyer, at the people bustling in and out of the doors, the nurses with pens behind their ears and files in hand. When she turns back around her gaze is slightly softer. “I wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Medical school just kind of fell in my lap.” But Rowlands shakes her head and her gaze hardens again. “But unlike you, I remember what I am. And what I am is territorial. I want Princeton-Plainsboro to myself without your stench drifting down every hall.”

 

House jerks his head back, like he’s been slapped. “I do not stink!” he says petulantly.

 

Again with the lip curl. “You stink of flame and hot metal. It’s disgusting. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting.” She breezes past him without a backwards glance and House hopes bitterly that the office door will smack her on the ass. It doesn’t. Today is just not his day.

 

oOo

 

Wilson likes to think that because he’s known House for so long, that he’s a bit of an expert. There’s still plenty of stuff he doesn’t know about the man, mostly because House is just a private person in general despite the fact that he never really shuts up. But Wilson is still able to tell immediately when something is…off.

 

It starts with the woman, Dr. Rowlands. There was something bright around House’s eyes when he talked about her, a keen interest mixed with wariness. That in and of itself isn’t unusual, it’s not the first time House has been attracted to someone he hates, and it probably won’t be the last.

 

A week later and Wilson isn’t so sure it’s attraction anymore. House has become twitchy and overly irritable, and the interest and wariness have hardened into a steely, angry distrust. He stalks around the hospital snapping at people and avoiding Rowlands and seeking her out in turns.

 

Wilson’s pretty worried. He keeps dropping hints that maybe he can be of some assistance, or that he’s always available to talk to, but House being House they’re shrugged off with a glib remark and never brought up again.

 

When week three hits and Wilson walks past House’s office only to see it in complete disarray, the fellows carefully picking through books and files and various knick knacks scattered across the floor, he decides it’s time for drastic measures. So he sets a plan into motion, because the only way to get House to open up when he doesn’t want to is to trap him into it.

 

It’s a simple plan. He follows House into the restroom and then locks the door behind them and places himself firmly in front of it.

 

“What happened to your office?”

 

House is standing at the urinal, and his shoulders are high and tight. He doesn’t even glance back at Wilson. “Rowlands and I had a…disagreement.”

 

Alarm sparks through Wilson. “Did you physically fight her? Your office was in ruins, House.”

 

House just huffs. The sound of his zipper going up is unusually loud in the restroom, as is the dull knock his cane makes as he slams it against the ground, turning to head for the sinks. “She was angry. There was an altercation,” he says vaguely, still not looking at Wilson.

 

“She __attacked__ you!?”

 

“We __argued__ ,” House snaps. The water runs for a moment as he washes his hands, then shuts off again. Wilson is silent, his stomach in knots, anger slowly building in his veins. At Rowlands, but also at House.

 

Finally, House turns towards him, starting for the door. His expression startles Wilson, so that when House pauses only a foot from him, all his words die on his tongue.

 

He’s seen House pissed before, at himself, at patients, at the world in general. He’s seen him raving and furious and any number of other variations, but he’s never seen _ _this__. House’s features are hard and unwavering, his blue eyes alight with a pure, righteous fury. There’s something wavering about his appearance, like his image has been superimposed over…something. Something huge and dangerous that actually strikes fear into Wilson before he can gather his wits again.

 

“Move,” House says, and it’s an ugly snarl of sound.

 

Wilson takes a deep breath and pulls himself together, setting his shoulders against all that anger. He knows it’s not directed at him anyways. A long dormant instinct tells him he’d be dead already if it was.

 

“No,” he replies simply, daring to stare House down. “You’re going to talk to me about this.”

 

House’s lip curls, just a touch, an expression he’s never seen his friend make before. There’s something insanely animalistic about it. “If you don’t move, I’ll make you,” House warns lowly.

 

Having been on the recieving end of House’s cane plenty of times, Wilson already believes him, and that’s even before factoring in the dark mood. But Wilson just juts his chin out, a challenge. “I think you’ve already been in one fight today and you don’t need another. You’re not even angry with me. You’re angry with Rowlands and you won’t tell me __why__.” He lowers his voice, his shoulders loosening, making himself less of a theat. “I just want to help you, House.”

 

It has the desired effect. The fire in House’s eyes banks a little, and his body language softens a touch. Just enough to let Wilson know that his friend really doesn’t want to fight him right now, might actually be in pain from…whatever happened before.

 

“You can’t help me,” House says, harsh but not unkind. “Stop trying.”

 

Wilson opens his mouth to tell him that he can at least be a listening ear, but House finally looses his patience and shoves past him. Again, not harsh, though it’s not exactly comfortable being knocked into the bathroom wall as House shuffles past him, unlocking the door with a click and then dissapearing through it.

 

Well. That didn’t exactly go to plan.

 

By the time Wilson leaves, House is long gone already. Still, there are other places to find answers.

 

Wilson head’s back to House’s office. The fellows all glance up at his entrance, but they seem to be haing a brief, but enthusiastic outburst.

 

“There’s no way he doesn’t organize his books by author!” Cameron is saying. There’s several stacks of books scattered around the floor. Most look unhurt, but one on the desk looks next to ripped apart. Torn paper flutters saddly between the hard covers.

 

“I’m telling you, they’re organized by subject,” Foreman insists, arms crossed over his chest as he stares his fellows down.

 

“Maybe they’re alphabetical?” Chase tries.

 

“Actually, he has his own system,” Wilson chimes in. He circles the desk, trailing his fingers over a strange gouge and what appears to be a…singe mark? Did one of them try to light a fire in here? He shakes his head, then adds distractedly, ‘You’re better off leaving them stacked like that. If you put them back wrong it’ll just piss him off.”

 

Cameron snorts. “I don’t think it’s possible for him to be angerier than he is now. Everytime Rowlands comes by I think he’s going to go postal and tear the whole hospital down.”

 

“Still, best to just leave them.” Wilson picks up the ruined book. It hangs limply in his hands, huge, terrible rips piercing through thick stacks of pages, pulling the paper itself apart. It almost looks like whatever gouged the desk was used here too, something wide and sharp slicing through chapters upon chapters like they were nothing. He sets it down again and looks back at the fellows, who are all watching him curiously. “Do you know what happened?” he asks.

 

Several head shakes. “We came in after it was all over,” Chase offers. “Rowlands was just leaving, holding her cheek. I think I might have seen blood.”

 

Cameron bites at her full bottom lip. “Do you think,” she starts, quiet, then forges on, “do you really think he’d hurt someone like that?”

 

“He puts his patients lives in danger constantly,” Foreman says dryly, but Wilson shoots him a reprimanding look.

 

“No, he wouldn’t. Not unless he was really provoked.”

 

“I’ve seen him hit you with his cane,” Foreman argues, a sneer pulling at his lips. “If he’s willing to hurt the only person he can manage to keep around, why wouldn’t he hurt someone he hates?”

 

It should make Wilson angry, but he’s heard much worse about House over the years and he’s learned to get used to it. There’s a reason other people tend to hate the man, and Wilson can only fight so many of his battles.

 

“You’re wrong,” is all he says, soft and sure. Not even Cameron looks like she completely believes him, and she’s always been the softest on House, even when he’s at his worst. They could sit around and argue about House’s twisted sense of morality all day long, but Wilson has other ideas. “Do any of you know where Rowlands’ office is?”

 

Three shared looks of skepticisim.

 

“She’s kind of a bitch,” Chase warns.

 

“I actually don’t blame House for hating her,” Foreman adds. “ _ _I__ kind of hate her. She’s always coming around to pick fights with House. It puts him off his game. He’s made two wrong diagnoses in the past week alone.”

 

Wilson’s eyebrows arch at that. House can’t stand being wrong, it drives him up the metaphorical wall. That explains some of his anger at least.

 

Cameron tells him where the office is, and Wilson leaves admist another round of warnings. Apparently a woman hellbent on taking on House is enough to make the fellows extremely wary, and Wilson doesn’t blame them. Anyone willingly taking on House probably needs a psych-eval.

 

Rowlands’ office is tucked away on the end of a long hallway. It’s a bit far removed from the ICU but, well, that’s what pagers are for. Her door is closed, and unlike House’s, it’s not made of glass. Wilson knocks courteously.

 

A feminine voice bids him enter. The office is warm but small and cluttered when he comes in, leaving the door open behind him for a quick escape if necessary. Rowlands herself, who Wilson has never met, is a striking woman. Cool grey eyes that assess him quickly, disinterestedly, and blonde hair falling softly around her face. There are two dark marks on her cheek, healing cuts all scabbed over that look a few weeks old.

 

Normally Wilson would greet her and offer his hand, but he finds that after the knock he’s not really feeling very courteous anymore. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “Why are you antagonizing House?”

 

A pale eyebrow shoots up and Rowlands’ spine stiffens a little. “And who are you?”

 

“Dr. Wilson. I’m House’s best friend.”

 

The second eyebrow jumps up to join the first. “Interesting that he’s never mentioned you before,” she muses.

 

“No, I imagine I don’t tend to come up in whatever you two are arguing about. What’s your problem with him?”

 

She doesn’t respond. Instead those clinical grey eyes trace over him again, another assessment, this one slower and more thorough. Something seems to occur to her and her face lights up, practically shining even as she smiles sedately up at him. “How about we got out to lunch to discuss this?” she asks. “This probably isn’t the best place.”

 

The offer throws Wilson off a little. She doesn’t want to discuss House in the privacy of her own office, but she can fight the man in his? It doesn’t make any sense. But she’s standing and grabbing her coat and Wilson really wants some answers about what the hell is going on between them.

 

“I’ll drive,” she adds, and then she’s ushering Wilson out into the hallway.

 

“Sure,” he says, belated and awkward as she’s locking the door behind her. Is it even lunch time? Probably, he is pretty hungry. Still though, something feels all wrong about this situation.

 

But he follows Rowlands, oh please call me Claire, out to her car, and he straps into the front seat without complaint.

 

It only takes hitting the highway for him to realize this was a mistake. It’s something in the way she’s smiling at nothing, the way her hands contract with anticipation on the steering wheel.

 

“Where-” he tries to ask, because maybe she just doesn’t want to have lunch downtown. But she hushes him quickly.

 

“We’re not going to lunch,” she tells him. It’s said almost kindly, a not quite apology.

 

Wilson rolls his shoulders and glances at the cars moving past them, the little white lines on the pavement beneath. “Yeah, I figured that out. Care to tell me where we are going?”

 

“I can’t.” Again, almost apologetic. She pulls out her phone, which is slightly concerning since she’s still driving, and dials a number.

 

“House,” she says into it. Wilson sighs dramatically and leans back against the head rest. Of course this is about their stupid feud. “I told you I’d find it. Either you resign now and I bring him back, or you come after me and we finally have this out like we should. I imagine you probably have a tracking device on his phone so just follow that.”

 

“Did you just call me an it?” Wilson demands, then slightly more incredulous, “A tracking device!?”

 

Rowlands doesn’t even look at him, though her expression screws up and she pulls the phone away from her face. Understandable considering House is yelling so loudly Wilson can hear him from across the car. It’s a little touching honestly, that his friend is that concerned. Not touching enough to erase the fact that apparently said friend has been stalking him. But still. Touching.

 

“Would you shut up already?” Rowlands finally snaps. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t comply so don’t get so pissy when I follow through.”

 

“You’re crazy,” Wilson informs her. He knows she’s heard by the faint tick in her eyebrow. Or maybe that’s just whatever House is saying.

 

“Yeah, well, tell him not to come looking for me next time. He made it so easy.”

 

“I did not!”

 

Rowlands side eyes him, pushing the phone briefly to her shoulder to tell him, “You really did.” Then back to House, “I’m hanging up now. You know your options.” She ends the call and tosses the phone into the center cup holder.  

 

Wilson’s gaze flickers between the phone and her face, her mouth set in a grim little smile. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s going on?”

 

That smile twitches a little but her eyes stay fixed on the road. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

 

oOo

 

They end up out of Jersey entirely. Wilson leans his forehead against the cool glass of the window and tries to catch some sleep. It doesn’t really happen but he does drift a bit, the radio a soft lull in the background. Somewhere along the way it starts to rain, little silver drops sliding down the glass as concrete and metal fade into the dense green of pines.

 

It’s not actually that bad being Rowlands’ hostage. I mean, he did get pulled away in the middle of a shift and his department probably isn’t going to be too happy with him. But she does stop for lunch, even if its just drive-thru food, and she doesn’t bother him with useless small talk.

 

“What’s the plan?” he asks several hours later when they finally stop. They’d spent nearly twenty minutes driving down a dirt road, and perched right at the end is an old, scenic looking log cabin, like something out of a magazine.

Rowlands kills the engine and instantly the patter of the rain gets louder. It’s drum nearly drowns out her sigh. Wilson has already asked the question five or six times now, but this time she finally answers with a quick, “We wait.”

 

“For House.”

 

A nod of her head. “For House.”

 

“But-” he starts, and the words die on his tongue as Rowlands ignores him completely and opens the car door. She disappears up the stairs and into the cabin, heedless of the rain wetting her hair and shoulders.

 

For a moment Wilson considers making a break for it. He’s alone now after all, but she took the keys with her, and it’s not like he could get far on foot when they’re in the middle of nowhere. He digs his phone out of his pocket instead and contemplates the dark screen. He doesn’t know where he is, but he could still call the cops. They might be able to come pick him up.

 

But Rowlands’ beef isn’t with him, it’s with House, and she’s made that abundantly clear. Despite her actions she seems fairly sane, and Wilson doesn’t feel like she’s going to actually hurt him or anything. House is a different story. But if Wilson leaves now, or calls the cops, it’s just going to put this inevitable confrontation off, not actually stop it. And who knows what drastic measures she’ll resort to next time?

 

Wilson feels his lips twist, but he hits speed dial and brings the phone up to his face.

 

It only rings once before someone picks up, breathless and too loud. “Wilson!?”

 

“House,” Wilson replies, but it’s the only word he’s allowed to get out.

 

“Are you okay? Where are you? Where did that bitch take you? I swear to god if she touched a single hair on your head I’m going to steal everything she’s ever hoarded and burn her to a fucking crisp while I’m at it.” His voice is a low rumble, a thinly banked fire waiting for a fresh flow of oxygen before it explodes into violence, and his anger is palpable through the phone itself.

 

“House-” Wilson tries, only to be steamrolled by another series of threats and promises. So he shouts “House!” as loudly as he dares with Rowlands presumably just in the house. That seems to catch his friend’s attention and House’s diatribe slows to a trickle, and then a stop. His breathing is ragged on the other end of the line.

 

“Breathe,” Wilson tells him gently. “I’m fine. She just took me out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Sinister, but she fed me on the way here so I can’t complain yet.”

 

That gets him a small laugh out of House, though it sounds mostly unwilling. “Just be careful,” House says after a moment. He still sounds angry, gruff, but his voice is softer now too. “You don’t know what she’s capable of.”

 

“I saw your office, House. I think I know.”

“That’s not what I mean,” House snaps back. “You don’t know what she __is__ , Wilson. She…look, I’m not far behind you guys. I should be there in the next hour or so. Just be careful.”

 

“Sure,” Wilson agrees. “Are we going to talk about the fact that you can apparently track my phone.”

 

A long beat of silence, interrupted only by the steadily increasing rain hitting the windows. Finally House sighs. “Yeah. We’ll talk about it after...everything. Suppose I haven’t got much of a choice now do I.”

 

oOo

 

House’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel until it creaks ominously, and he resists the urge to just rip it apart completely. He’d just barely resisted throwing his phone out the window, and only because there was a chance Wilson might call him again.

 

__Wilson._ _

 

He’s going to rip Rowlands limb from limb. She’s been threatening him for a while, threatening to dig up his hoard and take it from him, threatening to get him fired, threatening to fight him if she had to. He’d warned her, told her to stay in her own goddamn lane, but then push had come to shove and they’d…fought. She’d pulled his books from his shelves and he’d been unable to control himself from partially shifting. He had been hoping maybe drawing a little blood would finally make her back off.

 

Instead she has __Wilson.__ The most important piece of House’s hoard, the one he simply can’t and __won’t__ live without. She’d threatened, sure. But now that she has him? House is seeing red.

 

The highway flashes by in dark streaks, his speedometer steady but only because he’s already hit 80 and he can’t afford to get pulled over right now. Rain beats at the windshield, a merciless drum that fills him with anxiety. He’d heard rain from Wilson’s side of the phone. Soft. Pleasant.

 

It takes less than the promised hour for House to catch up. He never actually makes it as far as wherever she’s keeping Wilson because she’s waiting for him as he turns onto a shadowed dirt road. It’s only midday but the sky is dark with the oncoming storm and the pine trees swaying above them block what little light remains. They’re old. Tall. Tall enough he can shift under them without having to worry about his size.

 

There’s mud all over Rowlands’ feet and her skin is slick with rain, every inch of her bare to the elements. Her hair is matted down against her skull, her fingers flexing at her sides as House parks and steps out of the cab.

 

“I’m going to assume you didn’t resign,” she says conversationally, like she’s not standing naked in the middle of the woods. House doesn’t deign that with a response, instead points his cane down the road she’s blocking.

 

“And I’m going to assume Wilson is a mile or two that way?” His tone is only a facsimile of politeness, a thin veneer under which all his fury lies.

 

Her head dips in a nod. “Not that I’m going to let you go after him, not that easily. You came all the way here, you have to know what comes next.”

 

“We finish what you started in my office.”

 

Rowlands’ lips thin and those grey eyes narrow to slits. “It didn’t have to come to this!” she spits. House can see the faint shifting of scales under her skin. “All you had to do was resign, that’s it. You pushed me to this. I warned you what I would do, so you don’t get to be angry when I follow through.”

 

“ _ _You took my hoard!__ ” The words come out a near roar, loud enough to startle several birds into flight despite the rain pouring around them.

 

“ _ _And you made me do it!__ ” Rowlands roars right back at him. There’s a tense millisecond between them where they just…breathe, Rowlands’ teeth bared like an animals and smoke practically pouring from House’s lips. And then it’s all movement, a rush of heat and magic as both of them allow their shifts to rip through their bodies.

 

House doesn’t bother with his clothing. All his anger rises straight through his skin and then pushes further, contorting, shaping, snapping into place bones that were never there before. It’s painful but the pain is old and familiar, even the searing ache of his scar transferring to this other form of his. It sits high up on one of his rear legs, bothersome for sure but not necessarily crippling.

 

A heavy weight slams into House’s side before his change has even finished with him. Blue eyes snap open, his claws skidding and grappling for purchase in the dirt even as his spine ripples and shapes itself. He snaps his wings out as soon as they’re formed enough to, and they catch enough air to bring him to a stop mere inches before he can slam into his car.

 

Rowlands’ hops away from him, her own wings flared and a mouth full of bristling teeth bared. She’s smaller than House, something she must not have been expecting by the way she paces, wanting to circle and look for an opening but not quite sure how.

 

House rolls his shoulders, does a quick mental check to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. He was right about Rowlands; she’s a dark, midnight-blue, her belly and muzzle a softer shade, and there’s a frigid air practically pouring off of her scales. Ice.

 

But House is twice her size, and his element is metal. Silver. Heat courses through his very blood. Even with his bad leg this has been a stacked fight from the very beginning.

 

If Rowlands realizes that, she doesn’t show it. She circles him incessantly, lunging in to bite at his legs and claw at his vulnerable underside. House growls and swipes at her, but her one edge is her speed.

 

Above them the sky looses a threatening rumble. Lightning follows a mere second later, blinding in its intensity, and Rowlands uses it to her advantage. She’s on him in that brief, blind moment, her claws digging into his chest, her teeth going straight for his throat. House roars, propelling himself onto his hind legs so he can use his front to try and grapple her off. He can feel the instant she finally manages to get through his scales, her claws drawing a hot flash of pain just before he gets his own into her and pries her off. He tosses her, her wings flaring to catch herself, just as his back leg buckles and he’s forced back onto all fours.

 

The snarl of her teeth is bright in the dimness of the forest. Her voice is a deep rumble of sound that carries in a way that no human voice ever could. “First blood to me.”

 

House bares his teeth right back at her, a grisly attempt at a smile. Blood trails hotly down bright silver and black scales, dripping into the dirt below. “And yet the war isn’t won yet.”

 

It’s on for real after that. House had held back a bit at first, wanting to give Rowlands a chance to back out once she realized how truly outmatched she is. But it’s clear she isn’t going to be that smart. So House launches himself at her with a savage roar, grabbing and rolling with their momentum to disorient and get her underneath him.

 

She hisses and roars right back at him, ice frosting her breath against his face. His claws sink into her shoulders, digging under scales, pulling blood, but she’s small and slippery and her back feet find his stomach with unerring accuracy. He’s forced to back off to avoid being gutted and she pushes up into him, her weight knocking him off balance until she can try and flip them. It’s not a position she can hold though, not with House being so much bigger than her.  

 

They end up rolling, locked together. Blood and rain make their grips slippery and more than one tree is felled by a flailing tail or errant limb. House is winning, but only barely just. Rowlands starts targeting that back leg of his, and she’s fast enough to get the damage in before he can really stop her. So she’s bleeding and missing chunks of hide all down her sides, but he’s the one limping, snarling as he tries to keep up with her.

 

Thunder shakes the very earth, the feeling of it nearly indistinguishable from their fighting. In the breath of the following lightning crash Rowlands gathers her feet under herself and launches upwards, the sound of tree limbs ripping and cracking nearly lost under the storm. With the sky at her back, all purple and bright with the lightning, she is a stark, beautiful silhouette as she unfolds her wings and presses up into the rain.

 

House snarls and launches himself after her. His own wings catch and tear at the trees, so much larger than hers, and the effort it takes simply to clear the forest leaves him breathless. But then he’s airborne, the rain pelting him from all sides and the wind a fierce tangle of currents around him. Rowlands is gliding somewhere over his head, smaller, more nimble, more aerodynamic than him.

 

She’s counting on that. But she’s forgotten that house is, first and foremost, a fire breather. He has his bulk and his strength, but a metal dragon will always reach for their flame when confronted. He’d refrained on the ground for fear of burning the entire forest down, but up here?

 

House adjusts his wings, spiraling upwards towards Rowlands’ dark outline against the even darker clouds. Her flight adjusts, wings tucking close to her body as she turns and begins to dive towards him. With her momentum she’ll knock him aside, push him down towards the earth where he’ll hopefully hit hard enough to stun him. If she’s really lucky he’ll be impaled on some of the trees.

 

She’s expecting him to stall in an attempt to avoid the collision. She’s not expecting him to flap harder, push himself on an updraft so that their clash goes from likely to inevitable. He sees the flash of understanding in her intelligent, silver eyes just before he opens his maw and all his anger rolls languidly up his throat and bursts molten and hot from between his jaws.

 

Rowlands roars in pain just as more thunder shakes the very air. She’s caught directly in his flame, eyes closed, face turned from the heat, wings flaring to try and push her away from the onslaught. But her momentum carries her straight into House, his jaw snapping closed as he gets his claws in her, pulling her close. The impact pushes them into a free fall. She scrabbles at his hold on her, disoriented and scales smoking.

 

If House were a better person, he’d flare his wings and catch them both. But he’s not and he doesn’t. They twist and writhe through the air, wind whistling past them as they each try to ensure the other hits ground first. They end up coming in diagonally on their sides, trees felled in their path and great bouts of wet dirt thrown up all around them.

 

For a moment all is quiet. Even the storm with its constant raging seems to hold it’s breath as both dragons heave for breath, dazed. But House is the first to find his feet, his bad leg stiff and held tight under his body so he doesn’t put weight on it. His vision is dark around the edges. But Rowlands’ eyes are mere slits and there’s blood all down her sides, a free flowing river made thinner by the rain. She isn’t standing.

 

“This ends now,” House growls. Her gaze flicks to him but she doesn’t move except for the heaving of her flanks. Taking a deep breath, his jaw falls open once more. It’d only be right. To threaten fire is to die by the flames.

 

The sound of a branch snapping echoes like a gun shot across the clearing. House jerks his head towards it, jaw snapping closed and gaze narrowing on a small, lone figure just within the tree line.

 

There’s a strangled gasp of breath, a quick jerk as the figure tries to move out of sight again. And then Rowlands’ is laughing from her place on the ground, a deep, throaty noise. House turns back towards her and she flashes her teeth up at him.

 

“Better go catch your hoard,” she warns, voice nothing more than a quiet rasp barely heard over the rain. “I couldn’t take him from you, but what happens if he decides he doesn’t want to stick around?”

 

House is already moving towards the tree line, Rowlands completely forgotten before her last word dies in the air. The figure stumbles away from his advance, further into the trees and House can’t help the frantic “Wilson!” that bursts from his maw.

 

Wilson pauses, though his shoulders are high and tight.  

 

Again House tries to call his name, but the shift is falling away form his body piece by piece and his mouth is a mixture of soft tongue and too big teeth, his vocal chords twisting and curling in on themselves. The word comes out soft and broken, but still Wilson seems to understand.

 

oOo

 

He was supposed to stay in the cabin. That’s what Rowlands had told him. But Wilson had watched between the blinds as she’d stepped outside into the rain and immediately began to strip. She’d folded her clothes nicely and put them aside on the porch despite the rain, then set off down the long, dirt road, her feet muddy after only a few steps.

 

And really, Wilson had just wanted to know what he fuck was going on.

 

Rowlands’ and House’s feud is just…odd. Every single development has sent alarm bells ringing in Wilson’s mind, right up from House’s unusual, ferocious anger, to the point where Rowlands’ physically kidnapped him.

 

And then she’d just…walked off. Naked. Into a storm. In the middle of nowhere.

 

So Wilson gathers his wits and decides he’s going to figure this out once and for all. Sure he could wait around for House to come get him but there’s no telling what story the man might try to weave, or if any of it will even be true.

 

The cabin is fully furnished and well stocked, so Wilson takes a quick peek around. He manages to find a rain coat but no boots, which sucks because now his shoes will be ruined. Well, not like he would have been able to return to work today anyways. He’s sure if he could see the sun behind all the storm clouds he’d see it at the very beginning of its descent, perched heavy and hot in the sky. Even if he left now it’d still be dark by the time he got back to town.

 

The kitchen yields him a pocket knife and a flashlight, both of which he sticks into the rain coat’s pockets. He figures that’s probably as prepared as he’s going to get for…whatever this is. Mustering himself, he steps out onto the front porch into the downpour. Rowlands’ clothes are a sodden pile at his feet that he ignores.

 

Because he’d stopped to look around the cabin, he’s lost a few minutes on Rowlands. That’s not a bad thing though, as she’s less likely to notice her tail if he’s not right on her. Plus, there’s a road. So long as he doesn’t veer off it for some reason, she’ll be easy to find.

 

Wilson starts off down the road and quickly ends up walking in the grass beside it because the bare dirt is now just ankle deep mud. He thinks mournfully of his shoes and decides House is going to have to buy him a new pair.

 

The pine trees shimmer gently in the wind of the storm around him, shedding water like tears. The rain itself is a constant patter, the sound of it hitting the coat’s hood loud in Wilson’s ears. This was probably a really bad idea. Better to wait for House in the cabin where it’s warm and dry and there’s probably more food. Still, something is drawing him inexorably forward, the dirt road stretching out before him like an invitation, even as he shivers in the cooling air.

 

And then the world explodes.

 

Explodes isn’t perhaps the right word, but some many things happen at once. There comes a roar like an explosion and the trees and earth seem to shake all around him, the sky above him shaking from a simultaneous deep roll of thunder, and lightning blinds him mere seconds later. Wilson pauses, his heart caught in his throat as he tries to orient himself. The rain is a violent torrent around him and he hears another roar, this one somehow different than the first. It’s accompanied by the unmistakable sound of wood cracking and splintering, a mighty crash as a tree is felled.

 

Somewhere in this forest two great beasts are fighting and Wilson decides very quickly that he doesn’t want anything to fucking do with it. Not one bit. He’s going to turn around and go right back to that cabin, find some dry clothes, and wait for House.

 

But his feet aren’t turning him around. They’re shuffling forward, the black leather ruined by bits of grass and mud and water. His socks are wet and uncomfortable, the legs of his pants ruined. And still he walks forward, an ongoing battle somewhere far ahead of him audible but not visible. He’s just registering the heavy scent of blood on the rain when there comes another huge crash of tree limbs being torn asunder. A beat of silence, and then a much, much louder version, trees ripped from the very earth as __something__ uproots them.

 

A long dormant instinct, one born of survival and necessity, jerks his head back and up. Rain blurs his vision, hitting his face and sliding uncomfortably into his coat. There’s almost nothing to see, the sky only barely visible between swaying pine branches. But a sudden flash of lightning illuminates two moving shapes far, far above, shadows of great wings and scaled limbs, snouts filled with terrible teeth. He looses them again among the branches and cranes his neck, trying to follow the pattern of their flight. For a moment he thinks he’s lost them entirely, but then the sky lights up once more. It’s not with the purple-white of a lightning strike.

 

One of the shadows, __dragon__  Wilson’s mind whispers, has fire spilling violently from it’s open mouth, the flames so hot their bases are a dazzling white, the tips deep blue. Their light flickers across the clouds, illuminating them and tossing shadows in turn so that the air, the clouds, the rain, all appear to be on fire too. Everything is illuminated white and blue, a pale surreal haze.

 

Then the dragons collide, the flames come to an abrupt halt, and the two forms tumble downwards towards the earth together.

 

Wilson is running before he even realizes it. His feet slip in the wet dirt and leaf litter as he veers off trail, trying desperately to follow the trajectory of the spinning dragons. Every instinct is screaming at him to stop, to turn, to run in the __opposite__ direction, but he just…can’t. He has to go, he has to see them. There’s something important happening here and he needs to __know.__

 

The moment the creatures hit the ground, Wilson is forced to crouch and cling to the closest tree. It feels like the very earth itself is opening up, splitting itself apart with little to no regard for the lives atop it. The silence that follows seem to ring with the aftershock. Above him the clouds loosen just the tiniest bit, beginning to disperse now that the heaviest of the rain has been unloaded.

 

It’s not hard to figure out where the dragons landed. All he has to do is follow the trail of destruction to a wide clearing, the trees decimated all around them. With wide eyes he watches the bigger of the two dragons slowly, ponderously, rise onto its feet.

 

The beast is __huge.__ It’s bleeding from several different places, great wings half folded along its back, tail dragging the earth. From here Wilson can see the flash of blue, hauntingly familiar eyes set in a scaly silver face, great horns arching up and back from the head, the snout long and wide and filled with teeth as long as Wilson’s arm. It’s scales are wet and glistening from the rain, a shiny silver like metal in some places, and black like obsidian in others. As Wilson watches the great maw opens, moves quietly. He can hear only a faint rumble from here, and tries to shift forward to hear better, even as the large dragon draws itself up like a snake ready to bite.

 

A twig snaps under Wilson’s foot.

 

The huge head jerks towards him, sharp blue eyes seeking him out immediately. Wilson jerks and gasps, unprepared for the intensity of that gaze or the stunning fear that claws up his spine.

 

A rumble like laughter comes from the dragon on the ground. It’s smaller, all blue with wicked looking claws, almost feminine. The black dragon looks down at it, her, then back at Wilson, the blue eyes gone huge as heavy feet stumble towards him.

 

Wilson backs up, feet slipping in the leaf litter, heart in his throat.

 

The maw opens again, white teeth flashing through the rain, and for a brief second Wilson fears he’s about to be burnt to a crisp. But a sound emerges instead of flames, a deep rumbling that forms phonemes, then a morpheme, two syllables. __Wilson.__

 

He pauses, confused, and watches as the dragon…ripples. The scales shimmer, the teeth shrinking, claws receding into feet that drag unsteadily against the ground. It’s a bizarre sight seeing the scales fade into human skin, the body contort with a series of painful pops and cracks until it has two legs, two arms, bipedal, wings folding into a hunched back, horns shrinking, salt and pepper hair sprouting in time with two day old scruff. Throughout it all those eyes stay fixed on Wilson. Their shape changes, rounding out, and they shrink in time with the face, but they’re locked with Wilson’s gaze and that bright, intelligent blue is undeniably familiar. He’s started into House’s eyes enough times to recognize them, even on a monster.

 

The last draconic traces slip away just as House reaches him, and all at once Wilson’s arms are full of naked, bloody. His skin is ice cold and wet with rain, his breath fast and short.

 

“House?” It comes out fainter than Wilson wanted it to, tempered by pure, unadulterated disbelief. He gets a faint growling noise in response, then House clears his throat and backs off a little. Just a touch, because he’s still leaning all his weight against Wilson.

 

“There’s a cabin, right? Where she took you?” His voice is gruff, more growl than words.

 

Wilson’s gaze darts to the other dragon, the blue feminine one, but she’s gone. All that’s left is the path of destruction the two had wrought when falling out of the sky. He glances back at House, at the pain etched into that narrow face and the delicate tremors that are starting to work their way up House’s body.

 

“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I’ll take you there. Do you want to wear the jacket?”

 

House takes the raincoat and slips it on without comment, then lets Wilson put an arm around him to support him on the long trek back. It’s a little harder for Wilson to retrace his own footsteps, but eventually he finds the dirt road again.

 

The rain is finally starting to taper off, but water still drips on them from the trees above. Without the raincoat the few parts of Wilson he’d managed to keep dry get as soaked as the rest of him, but he finds he doesn’t mind. House needs the coat more than him. He’s got a few nasty cuts on his stomach and chest, what looks like bites and scrapes all around his scar and down his right leg. The arm not around Wilson’s shoulders is clutching the fabric tighter around his body.

 

At one point Wilson had tried to stop and take a closer look at the wounds, not that he’d had anything on hand that would have been helpful for House. But House had just shooed him off wordlessly and they’d continued their wet, miserable trek.Though, Wilson really isn’t that miserable. House is a line of weight and warmth all down his side, pressed tight against him. House’s skin may be chilled from the rain but there’s a core of fire in him that Wilson can feel even through layers of wet clothing.

 

The cabin is blessedly warm and dry when they reach it. Considering he just carried House half naked through the woods, Wilson doesn’t blink twice at shedding his wet, muddy clothing in the entry way. He helps House pull the coat off and collapse on the couch, and then goes to find towels and dry clothing.

 

The cabin has to belong to Rowlands’ because Wilson only manages to find womens clothing in the bedroom. Luckily, she seems to be fond of large t-shirts and baggy pants so that’s what he and House end up wearing.

 

House plucks at his own shirt, a bright lime green, and sneers. The expression is interrupted by a grimace and he rubs absently at his leg. Wilson sets a warm cup of hot chocolate down on the coffee table in front of him then curls up on the opposite end of the couch with his own mug. It’s been a long time since he’s made or had hot chocolate but he’d found it in a kitchen cabinet and it seemed…appropriately soothing.

 

“Do you have your meds?” he asks gently as House picks up his own mug, scowling into it.

 

“Lost em when I transformed,” House says. His voice has lost most of the growling quality it’d had earlier but now it’s tight with pain, one hand still absently rubbing at his thigh.

 

Wilson clears his throat. “Yes, well, I kind of think we should talk about that.”

 

He gets an arched eyebrow in response, House’s gaze finally flicking over to him. “About me transforming?”

 

“And…” Wilson makes a gesture that translates vaguely to ‘everything else’.

 

With a grumble House leans back again, bringing his mug and holding it between his palms, not actually drinking it but maybe savoring the warmth the way Wilson is. His eyes have trailed away again, the set of his shoulders tense. “There’s…a lot to cover,” he finally admits.

 

“Evidently. How about you start with the fact that you can turn into a dragon?”

 

House shakes his head. “It’s not that I can turn into a dragon, I’m just a dragon who can take a human form. There’s a difference.”

 

A stretch of silence. “ _ _Just__ ,” Wilson finally says. “Difference or no, there’s no __just__ about being a dragon, House.”

 

The corner of House’s mouth twitches, a vaguely animalistic gesture. So many things about this man and his behavior are finally coming together for Wilson.

 

“I’m just a dragon the same way you’re just a human,” he grumbles, and if he were in less pain the words probably would have been snapped. “I was born a dragon, raised as one, there’s nothing special about it to me.”

 

“Be that as it may, it’s kind of blowing my mind right now,” Wilson admits.

 

Piercing blue eyes catch his for a moment and hold, then flick away again. “You’re not scared of me?”

 

Back in the clearing, when the black and silver dragon had first seen him, Wilson had thought he was seconds away from a heart attack. Every single one of his instincts had __screamed__ at him to run. But there had also been that other feeling, the one keeping him rooted to the spot, drawing him forward when he knew he should be going the opposite direction. And then the dragon had said his name, had shrunk, had fallen into his arms. The pull he’d felt was the one he’s always had for House, the one that’s kept him coming back for more and more.

 

“No,” he finally settles on. “I don’t think I am. Surprised, yes. But that tends to happen when everything you thought you knew about the world is being called into question.”

 

House snorts inelegantly. “Not everything, just a few myths.”

 

“Fine, but just this morning those myths were still myths and not sitting in front of me sipping hot chocolate.”

 

House pulls his mug away from his face, like he’s embarrassed to have been caught drinking the sugary drink. Wilson just presses his smile into his own mug, the chocolate hot and rich on his tongue. When the silence continues to stretch, he finally asks, softly, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

 

For a moment he thinks maybe House isn’t going to answer at all, but then his friend lays his head against he back of the couch and rolls his neck to lock eyes with Wilson. He still seems tense, uncomfortable, but his expression is open. “No,” he admits.

 

Wilson nods, once. He can kind of understand, but he still needs to know for sure. “Why?”

 

It’s a toss up on whether or not House is going to lie to him, if he hasn’t been lying this entire time, but Wilson trusts the tense fingers wrapped around the mug and the faint grimace on House’s face for some reason.

 

“Too risky,” House says after a beat.

 

“Because?” Wilson presses.

 

A deep sigh. House transfers his mug to one hand and rubs the other along his bad leg, pressing the hell of his plam into the flesh. “Because I couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t run away screaming. It’s…taboo to come out to humans, every dragon knows it’ll only bring disaster. And normally I wouldn’t care but you’re...” he ducks his head and the last word is soft, mumbled.

 

Wilson leans forward, trying to catch the mumbling, but misses it. “I’m what?” he asks.

 

Again House’s lips curl, though it looks more like discomfort this time. “You’re part of my hoard,” he snaps. “The…crown jewel. The most important piece. Dragons have gone insane for far less than their jewel being stolen, I”m not sure what would have happened to me if you’d left. So I didn’t risk it.”

 

Wilson studies him, the hunch of his shoulders, the way he’s warmed up now but his skin is still pale and grey especially against the bright colors of Rowlands’ clothes. Things click into place one by one, focusing on the puzzle so much easier than thinking about the way his heart is pounding. “That’s why she took me,” Wilson realizes. “Because she knew it would bring you running. But why? She said…she said she wanted you to resign. Are you guys, I don’t know, territorial or something? Did she not want to work with you in the same hospital?”

 

House blinks at home, surprised into making eye contact again. Probably because Wilson just skated over all the emotional stuff without even mentioning it.

 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “That’s right. Taking a dragon’s hoard is the best way to try and get them to do something, but it’s also the quickest way to end up dead if you’re not careful. We tend to lean more towards territorialism or hoarding.”

 

“And you’re on the hoarding end of the spectrum.” When House nods Wilson purses his lips and cocks his head to the side. “So…you’re good now that I’m with you right? Since I’m part of your hoard.”

 

House’s lips press tightly together. “Sort of.”

 

oOo

 

In actuality House is not ‘good’. He’s been snapped out of his more draconic mindset, the one that had driven him to almost kill Rowlands. But his instincts are still on fire, still alight with the urges to claim and protect and __hoard__. Everything in him wants to shove Wilson down and curl up over top of him, prevent the rest of their world with their greedy claws from grabbing at what isn’t theirs.

 

But he doesn’t. House sits on the other end of the couch with his stupid mug of hot chocolate and rubs at his aching leg and tries not to stare at Wilson.

 

“You don’t sound like you’re okay,” Wilson comments. He’s got his head cocked to the side, all damp hair and puppy dog eyes. For a human he’s taking all of this surprisingly well. His eyes may never go back to their regular size, as wide as they are, and his mouth may never fully close again but still. Surprisingly well.

 

“My leg,” House lies easily. It’s not a complete lie either, his leg is bothering him. The way Rowlands’ had targeted it during their fight had ensured that. But it’s not really the big thing here.

 

Unfortunately, Wilson has stuck around long enough that he can occasionally call House on his bluffs.

 

“I mean I imagine so, after that fight. But that’s not what I’m talking about. And you know that.”

 

House bites at the inside of his cheek, thinking. To tell Wilson or not to tell him. The masochistic part of House that never thought his friend would stay even this long begs him to spill, but what’s left of the sane, reasonable part of his brain argues against it.

 

As it is often want to do, the part of House that revels in his own misery wins out.

 

“Just my instincts,” he admits, more to his mug of quickly cooling chocolate than to Wilson. “They’re a little out of whack right now.”

 

He can feel the couch cushions shift as Wilson leans towards him, lessening the space in between. It’s an innocent enough gesture, one friend worried and concerned for another. “What does that mean exactly?” he asks, tone curious.

 

House can’t help the way he leans away from Wilson, trying to restore some of that space.

 

“It means my draconic nature really __really__ wants-” he stops, teeth gnashing, unsure of how to explain the deep seated urges within him. It’s more than physical, more than mere possession. “Look just, keep your distance for right now okay? It’ll die down eventually.”

 

A pause, a small intake of breath. Then, soft, “House.” Just his name, nothing else.

 

House turns towards it, scowl fixed firmly in place even as he leans awkwardly against the armrest in an attempt to keep himself reigned in. Unfortunately, Wilson hasn’t backed off at all. His expression is intent, dark gazed focused. “House,” he repeats, this time with more purpose. “What do you need from me?” His tone suggests he understands, to some degree, what House needs and he’s willing to __provide__.

 

There’s a moment where House chews on his words, unsure of what to say or do, unsure how far he can really push. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, that unwillingness to push, when he’s never really cared about fall outs before. But Wilson’s eyes stay riveted to him and House has never been able to deny this man anything. Not when he’s so important.

 

“I need to hoard you,” he admits gruffly. His gaze locks to a loose thread on the couch by his knee, long fingers plucking idly at it. “It’s like needing to be close but...more. I need to know that you’re mine, that you’ll always be mine, that you’re protected and safe and nobody will ever take you from me again.” Having been around humans for so long, House knows it sounds terrible out loud. Controlling. Abusive. Humans don’t have anything similar with which to compare a dragon’s instincts and so their views of hoarding are all negative and greedy.

 

But Wilson doesn’t shrink from him the way he should. It might be a testament to how long he’s been around House, or just his very own fucked up nature. But instead he studies House seriously before asking, “Is this need romantic in nature? Sexual?”

 

This seems to be a night of admissions. “Both,” House says. The loose thread is coming further unraveled the more he picks at it. “Neither. It’s not…normal hoarding behavior isn’t romantic or sexual, no.”

 

“Then the romantic/sexual aspect isn’t from the dragon part of you.”

 

He considers snapping that there isn’t a __dragon__  part of him, versus some human part. He’s all dragon. Living around humans for the majority of his life has instilled within him plenty of human mannerisms, traits, thought patterns, but they don’t change what he is. But even he can realize it’s a pedantic, if meaningful, point. So instead he says, “Something like that, yeah.”

 

“So…”

 

House finally looks up again, eyeing Wilson warily, the way he’s still leaning forward, the faint flush rising up his face, the light in those dark eyes. “So what?” he snaps.

 

“Do you need to like, cuddle up with me or something to feel better? Maybe have sex?”

 

There has to be something deeply wrong with Wilson, even more than what being in House’s presence for so long could have caused. He didn’t seem particularly concerned by being kidnapped, went looking for House in the middle of nowhere, and then chased down two fighting dragons when he should have been sent running by the first roar. And now he’s here, offering himself up to try and appease a dragon’s hoarding instinct. Wilson has never been a casual man either, despite his many flings. Which means he’s being genuine here, is serious about this.

 

House narrows his eyes anyways, suspicious. “What.” Flat, no inflection.

 

There’s a reason Wilson has lasted this long though, and it’s his ability to be almost completely unphased by House’s assholery.

 

“I want to help you,” he says earnestly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is all a lot to adjust to. But I’m not opposed. To you. Romantically and sexually. Even with all the, uh...scales and fire and stuff.”

 

Sometime during all of this, House managed to forget himself and all that space he’d been trying to put between them. Their mugs have both been set aside, long gone cold, and despite being on opposite sides of the couch they’re both leaning in towards each other. House tries to see, or smell, any hint of doubt or deceit on Wilson, but he isn’t really expecting to find any so isn’t surprised when he doesn’t.

 

“You’re sure,” he finally says, still wary.

 

Wilson’s nod is final, decisive. “This is a hell of a way to finally get together, but I’ll take it.”

 

It’s that ‘finally’ that pushes House from indecision into action. Because it means Wilson would have said yes long before this night, had House only pushed. If his leg didn’t hurt so much he’d throw Wilson over his shoulder and then hunt down the bedroom in this place. His own nest would be better of course, but that’s hours away and he can’t wait that long.

 

But his leg does hurt and the bedroom is too far anyways. He bowls Wilson back onto the couch, pushing him down into the cushions and unable to help the growl that rises out of his throat. Just this, hovering over this man, his crown jewel, is already making him feel better. Less like he’ll bite off the head of the first person to look twice at Wilson. Literally. Humans really are so very fragile.

 

It’s still not enough though.

 

Wilson, of course, takes it in stride. He laughs a little breathlessly and then winds his arms around House’s neck. “You know, this living room doesn’t belong to us. Kind of rude.”

 

“The person it does belong to kidnapped you and tried to take you away from me,” House snaps in response, voice a low rumble. “I couldn’t care less. Let Rowlands clean cum stains off her couch, it’ll teach her not to fuck with us.”

 

“Might be overkill, considering she looked pretty wounded when I saw her last.”

 

“Not wounded enough she couldn’t shift and run off like a bitch with her tail between her legs.” House lets out an impatient huff, shifting his weight off his bad leg a bit. “Now, is this going to happen or are we going to argue about the fucking upholstery some more?”

 

That earns him another laugh out of Wilson, and then insistent hands are pulling him down, a warm mouth meeting his own. Wilson tastes like hot chocolate and ozone, a remnant of the storm they’d been caught in. It’s a surprisingly heady mixture, soft and sharp in turns, and he can’t help the noise that vibrates in his chest.

 

Wilson pulls away, his lips trailing the stubble on House’s cheek and his breath coming in a soft laugh. “Are you __purring__?”

 

The vibration clicks off immediately in House’s chest. “No,” he tries to growl, but Wilson is kissing him again and his thoughts scatter. The rumble comes back, a soft, deep sound that’s more felt than heard. Wilson doesn’t make another comment, which House is grateful for because he’s finding he really can’t control it. Not when his body feels electrified, finally allowed to act on all his hoarding instincts.

 

He needs to feel Wilson pressed against him where he’ll be safe and protected, so House pushes him down into the couch with his weight. Through the contact he can feel the pounding of Wilson’s heart. It echos his own heartbeat, just a half step behind.

 

He needs to know Wilson is his, so House pushes his hands under Wilson’s shirt, mapping warm skin and eating up the sighs that fall out of Wilson’s mouth. It’s possessive, heady.

 

He needs to know Wilson is going to stay with him, that he’ll continue to be part of House’s hoard, allow himself to be coveted. But that’s for later. Later, after they shed their clothing, and House covets him in the only way he can right now. He slides into the heat of Wilson’s body and never wants to leave it again. Judging by the way Wilson presses up into him, throat bared so House can pepper possessive bites all across it, he seems to feel the same way.

 

When they’re sticky and sated afterward, House collapses almost uncomfortably atop Wilson, a dragon curled atop of his treasure. The rumble is back again, a constant vibration of noise, a sound of contentment, and Wilson smiles sleepily while running his fingers through House’s hair.

 

Of course it’s all ruined when the front door slams open.

 

Both House and Wilson pop up, peering over the back of the couch to see Rowlands in the doorway, back lit by the setting sun, covered in blood and rain and dirt.

 

“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she snarls. One arm is held across her abdomen where a wound is still bleeding sluggishly, and the skin on her face and shoulders is bright and shiny with a fresh burn. All things considered she shouldn’t be up and moving, but that draconic healing factor is nothing to sneer at.

 

“Kinda busy here,” House snarls back. The couch is currently protecting their decency but the scent of sex is heavy in the air, even for a human nose. “”Come back later.”

 

“This is __my__ cabin!” Despite the protest she doesn’t make a move to cross the threshold.

 

House curls his lip at her, can feel the way his teeth are already starting to lengthen from her mere presence. “Not right now it isn’t.”

 

Her cool eyes assess him, her shoulders set and tense. After a defeat that spectacular she’s smart enough not to crowd him, especially with Wilson so damn close. Wilson who is blinking at both of them, eyebrows practically in his hairline.

 

“I think we were about ready to leave,” he says, breaking the silence.

 

“We’ll leave when we’re damn well ready to,” House snaps back.

 

Rowlands purses her lips tightly but there’s nothing she can do about the situation and she knows it. “I’ll be in my car,” she finally says. The door slams in her wake and House rolls his eyes and mutters about drama queens under his breath.

 

Wilson watches her go with a curious expression. “Think she’ll come back to work?” he asks, turning back to House. At House’s careless noise he amends his statement to, “Fine, will you let her come back if she decides to then?”

 

House considers it a moment, but as much as he dislikes her they’ve kind of already had it out. If they have any more issues he can just threaten to take her ass down again.

 

“I’m really not territorial,” he replies, then smirks as he leans in close to steal a kiss. “Just possessive.”

 

Wilson allows the kiss, fingers coming up to trail along House’s 5 o’clock shadow. Too soon he pulls away though, slapping House’s good thigh non too gently. “That’s very big of you. But regardless I think we should get out of her home now.”

 

“Ugh. Killjoy.”

**Author's Note:**

> My fiance says House burns the cabin down when they go to leave and she won't accept any other answer 
> 
> I take requests and commissions on my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Break It, You Buy It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16654354) by [Everyday_Im_Preaching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching)




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